Who's For Dinner?
by JailyForever
Summary: Fenrir goes on a date. QLFC Round 1 Entry
**A/N:**

 **Written for Round 1 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition**

 **Team:** Montrose Magpies

 **Position:** Beater 2 – Write your Death Eater/Snatcher on a date

 **Chosen character:** Fenrir Greyback

 **Prompts:** 6\. (Word) Inappropriate, 7. (Dialogue) "If you don't eat your vegetables, you can't have any pudding."

 **Word Count:** 1187

* * *

Who's For Dinner?

The werewolf pushed his peas and carrots around his plate with his fork as he listened to his date drone on and on about her two tabby cats at home. He nodded absent-mindedly at appropriate intervals, wishing not for the first time that he had chosen a different date for the evening, someone who could at least have provided him with some intelligent conversation to pass the time until the sun had fully set.

"If you don't eat your vegetables, you can't have any pudding," she told him with a wink, hinting at her hopes for how the evening would end.

Fenrir planted a grin on his face as she reached over and placed her hand over his, and his eyes flickered over to the slowly setting sun.

Oh, my dear, he thought to himself, you won't have an opportunity to enjoy pudding, but I will, and you look like the most delectable meal, and as an added bonus it will be a relief to finally get you to shut up; and what's more she would have no idea what was happening until it was too late and she was nothing more than a corpse. He had long since made the decision to kill her rather than change her into a werewolf; he didn't think he could abide by her constant chattering for the rest of his life.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he considered what easy pickings this budding journalist was and made a mental note to provide himself with more of a challenge for the next month's entertainment.

"So tell me Fenrir," she said, leaning forward, "where do you stand on the Wizengamot's recent ruling on werewolves? I for one cannot believe they want them to sign a register. They are nothing more than a group of jumped up old fools. Next thing you know they'll be passing a law ordering for all werewolves to be imprisoned or executed; and why? Because they are different, because every month a chemical change happens that they have no control over. I plan to write an article all about it for the Daily Prophet, although knowing those has-beens at the Ministry they will ensure it never gets published. They never have approved of people supporting the rights of werewolves, have they?"

The werewolf lifted his eyes from his plate and gazed at the woman sitting across from him and felt as though he was seeing her clearly for the first time. She no longer appeared as just another victim to him; she was something more, someone who wouldn't judge him for what he was or what he did. The chatty, inquisitive blonde, whilst completely irritating, could be the one.

His eyes averted back to the darkening sky and the moon that was slowly taking the place of the sun.

Could he really attack and change, or kill, this beautiful woman who was going to attempt to champion the rights of werewolves?

"No, my sweet, they have not," Fenrir answered, reaching into his robes and removing his pouch of money. "I wish that I could continue our date but I really must be going. I just remembered I have somewhere I need to be."

He threw down more than enough galleons to cover his meal with his date and raced away from the table that was situated outside a small restaurant in Hogsmeade. He had to get as far away from there as possible before his transformation began.

As he reached the outskirts of the forest he heard the clicking of heels following him, just as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his head and back as his body began to lengthen. The shirt on his back split as it became too small to contain his body, and he ripped it off and discarded it to one side. In spite of the pain he was feeling he forced himself to carry on moving further and further away from the woman who was chasing after him.

He curled his hands into fists as they changed into clawed paws and completed his transformation, before looking up to the moon above and howling.

A cracking of a twig caught his attention and the werewolf turned around to find the figure of a blonde woman standing there still as a statue. He snarled at the woman and pounced.

* * *

Fenrir's eyes flew open and he slowly sat up and stretched as he took in his surroundings. He was in the forest that he vaguely remembered running into as his transformation began. He had been running away from his date, a woman he had been intending to kill until she expressed unheard of views on his kind. He remembered seeing her once he had transformed, that he had been preparing to attack her, and then nothing.

The werewolf racked his brain to try and recall what had happened over the rest of the night but he couldn't remember anything else. It was something that never happened to his kind; despite losing all ability to think as a human, they always knew what occurred when they were in werewolf form.

His eyes began to scan his current location as he tried to recover his lost memory, hoping that he would see something that jogged it.

There was nothing but trees, bushes, and more trees. He had all but given up hope until he caught sight of a small form that appeared to be human just underneath one of the trees.

Ever so slowly Fenrir made his way towards the body. He bent down next to her and turned her over onto her back, coming face to face with the woman he had been on a date with.

Her clothes were torn to pieces and were held together by threads. Her face was covered in scratches and her arms were covered with bite marks. Every visible inch of skin was marked, and it was all his fault.

"Rita," he whispered softly, placing his hands on her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. Open your eyes – please."

As he leant over and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead he felt her body began to shake. He pulled back to find the blonde's eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Your face," she gasped out as she sat up. "Who would have thought that the ferocious Fenrir Greyback has a heart? The Prophet could never turn down an exclusive like this."

The werewolf narrowed his eyes at the glorious woman before him and hissed, "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but I would," she informed him, raising an eyebrow at him. "But I'll allow you to try and convince me otherwise over pudding."

Fenrir's eyes darkened as he caught onto Rita's train of thought, and his mind immediately began to flood with inappropriate images of all the things he would like to do to her.

"Lead the way, Rita," he whispered. "And maybe later you could tell me what happened after I transformed. I am very intrigued to know how someone as slight as yourself managed to fight off a werewolf."

The witch took Fenrir's hand and smiled.

"It's a long story."

 **A/N:**

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 **xoxo**


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